


Taste In Men

by becisvolatile



Series: Darcy Lewis Smut Week Challenge 2013 [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Creeper Clint, Dirty Talk, F/M, Thor 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becisvolatile/pseuds/becisvolatile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy thought that the worst thing SHIELD could do was take her iPod. She was so wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste In Men

**Author's Note:**

> Day Five of the Darcy Lewis Smut Week Challenge. Prompt: toys and games.
> 
> Enjoy!

Darcy thought that the worst thing SHIELD could do was take her iPod. She was so wrong. 

It was well past three in the morning and her feet were screaming after hours spent teetering on her single good pair of peep-toes. There wasn't a knitted item in sight (as per her sister's strict directions in regards to the dress and conduct of a maid of honour) but she did have a small pink neon penis flashing on the lapel of her fitted Zara blazer. It hardly stood out at the Hen's Night, but somewhere on the sobering stumble home she'd been bundled into the back of a black Escalade and promptly delivered to the underground garage of the Avenger's Tower. 

Must be a Thursday. Not that being abducted by SHIELD was exactly a weekly event. More like fortnightly. There seemed to be a direct correlation between how available Thor was and how free both Darcy and Jane were. 

Darcy kicked off her heels and stuffed them into her tote, the bag was already bulging with a range of penis-themed bridesmaid paraphernalia and no less than six noxiously coloured vibrators and dildos. Nobody could say that she'd been remiss in her duties as maid of honour. 

Except that she was about to be delivered to the Avengers high-security facility and she knew from experience that SHIELD got a bit twitchy where any sort of exotic electronics were involved. She tucked her bag more tightly underneath her arm. She was bold, not completely _shameless_. 

"Yo, Red Shirt," she turned to the nearest agent, "Not that I don't _adore_ these late night excursions, but could you give me a little bit of context?" 

"He can't, I can." Clint Barton rounded the reception desk and stepped through the security checkpoint, he was fastening his webbing belt as he moved, suggesting that he'd been dragged from bed to play welcoming committee. 

"Agent Barton, we've _got_ to stop meeting like this." 

"Tell me about it," he yawned as he flipped her a temporary pass. This wasn't their first time at the rodeo. His boots weren't done up, he only wore a simple, generic pair of black cams and a black SHIELD shirt. He seemed bed ruffled and Darcy had to contain her sigh, she appreciated a man who could hold his own in a gang of superheroes... and with arms like that, well, she wasn't entirely sure that he didn't have some sort of godly genes back along the line. 

"What is it this time? Intergalactic mayhem? Nazis from the dark side of the moon? Stark's exes have united with a common goal?" 

Barton shuddered at the last one, but shook his head. "Imminent threat to life and limb." 

"Jane again?" 

"You." 

Not that she didn't put a lot of stock in SHIELD's Intel department, it was just that in her experience, things were _never_ about her. And why would they be? She was the girl that tagged along, the side-kick. Forever tied to the train tracks, but never actually the one the bad guys wanted. 

And, hey, she was _fine_ with that. 

"Any particular reason?" she leaned up against the reception desk while one of her escorting agents skimmed her legs with a metal detector wand. 

"Ian Boothby." 

"Ian the intern?" 

"Intern to you maybe. Hydra Super Agent to the rest of us." 

"Fuck." 

Barton gave a lazy shrug, "All exes are evil Lewis, it's only the scale the varies. But, for future reference, Hydra Super Agents don't like being dumped by novelty candy hearts." 

"Noted." Even if it had been awfully convenient. "So my sister-" 

"Is perfectly safe. She's under surveillance." At least SHIELD did some things right. 

Darcy busied herself attaching her ID to her lapel (and took a few seconds to turn off the flashing pink LEDs on her penis badge). The agent at her back took the opportunity to snatch her bag from her shoulder. 

"Hey! Dude!" Darcy made an unsuccessful grab for it as he stepped neatly out of range. 

Barton turned to her with a frown, "Lewis, we check your bag every time. You know that." 

Meanwhile, the agent holding her tote opened it for a peek. His eyebrows arched up as he dissolved into a coughing fit. 

Darcy felt her face heat up as Barton shot a hard stare at the disabled agent and ushered her toward the lift. "Calm down, Lewis. It's late. Or early. I'll have your stuff to you later. You're safe." 

Safe from maniacal exes, maybe, but there was still the very real threat of death by embarrassment. 

~*~ 

When Clint made it back to the foyer to chew out Agents Marks and Grace he was surprised to find them still shuffling through the contents of Darcy's bag. One look from him had them zipping the bag back up and handing it over wordlessly. Usually he got along pretty well with the guys, but something about Lewis had put him into a shitty mood. 

The thing with 'Ian' had been a close call. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't been playing his favourite, fucked-up game of 'Which Lucky SOB Is Dating Darcy Lewis This Week'. It was the mental equivalent of sparring with Rogers and never failed to leave him bruised and mad as Hell. Watching Darcy's train-wreck of a romantic life was a habit that he'd sort of fallen into. It started innocently enough (that's what he liked to tell himself) he was just looking out for a kid who clearly wasn't making great life choices. But it had been nearly twelve months since he'd started and he knew there was more to it now. How else did he explain the way that the tension bled from his shoulders every time he found out that she'd dumped whichever schmuck had talked his way into her pants? 

Learning about 'Ian' had just been another disappointment in a week of shitty events, he'd been sent to London to help with the mop up and each night that he'd flopped onto his hotel bed, hoping to catch a few hours sleep, had invariably devolved into a marathon session of background checks and cyber stalking. He'd barely started to tug at the threads of 'Ian's' cover when Darcy had called it quits. Clint had set aside the poor bastard's file then, figuring that there wasn't any point in digging deeper. 

Not that he hadn't left the kid on a few select watchlists. 

And thank fuck that he had, because when Boothby had flown into JFK on the 0015 from Heathrow, JARVIS had given him the heads up. Clint had barely recalled the intel when shit had started falling to pieces. Even with Darcy safely asleep upstairs he still felt ill when he thought about the close call. 

Clint stalked into his apartment and tossed Darcy's purse up onto his kitchen counter. He'd deal with it later, it wasn't like he was letting her out of his sight anytime soon. Which was just another headache to heap on top of his Hydra-driven woes. Having Darcy close was always Hell. He'd promised himself that he'd do the right thing by both of them and stay the fuck away from her. So far he'd done a pretty good job. It didn't help that she wore jeans that fit her like a second skin, that her smart little mouth was just begging for some serious attention or that even slightly drunk and smelling of stale beer and peppermint schnapps she still smelled fucking amazing to him. 

For the most part he tried to play it cool, aloof. He was nothing to her, just some jackarse who rocked up and jerked her around on a fortnightly basis. Four am was either too late or too early for beer, he didn't know which, but he wasn't going down that path again. He'd lost a couple of weeks after the invasion of New York, spent them drunk off his arse as if tequila could somehow sterilise all the corners of his mind that Loki had touched. It hadn't worked then and he was willing to bet that it'd be a Hell of a lot harder to purge Darcy from his mind using the same method. 

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and resigned himself to yet another sleepless night, compliments of one very clueless Darcy Lewis. Since sleep wasn't coming anytime soon, and he knew he'd need to be up and about in a couple of hours anyway, he hauled himself up onto the bench next to Darcy's bag and settled in for a slow perusal. 

He might have felt guilty, breaching her privacy the way that he was, but he was _technically_ still head of physical security for the building and it wasn't like he hadn't done much worse with his creepy stalker routine. He wasn't even going to _think_ about the scuffed lime green iPod Shuffle in his sock drawer because a) she'd already been reimbursed for that and b) what kind of dick kept mementos from grad students that he frisked more than two years ago? 

A red high heel tumbled out of the bag when he unzipped it and he immediately regretted his decisions to snoop. They were what Natasha would call Come Fuck Me Shoes and since even the sight of Darcy in a pair of Converse being held together with good will and duct tape had him thinking deviant things, he did _not_ need to be picturing her in the shoes. 

Only the shoes. 

Fuck. 

Clint shifted on the bench and pulled the bag into his lap. He looked some more. 

He regretted it. 

Not that she wasn't totally within her rights to have whatever she damn well pleased in her bag, because it was her goddamn bag. It was just that the startling array of sex toys derailed his mind in a massive way and no matter how much he rationalised that the toys were only to be expected given that she'd been on her way home from a hen's night and women did crazy shit at those things, he couldn't drag his mind away from a vast number of increasingly filthy scenarios. 

At least he knew why she'd been reluctant to hand the bag over. 

Clint dragged his hand down over his face with a groan. It didn't matter if they were gag gifts or Darcy's personal stash, his mind had blown a fuse at the merest connection between Darcy Lewis and anything sexual. Hell, chances were that even without the toys he'd be sitting on the counter, out of his fucking mind with misery and lust just knowing that she was in the same building, curled up in bed, most likely stripped down to her underwear and _not_ using his very willing body as her own personal living, breathing, sex toy. 

~*~ 

"You have shit taste in men," Barton snapped as he marched into her room some time after sunset. 

Darcy hadn't made it out of bed until after three and since she and JARVIS were tight, she'd just had him coordinate a late-afternoon breakfast while she'd recovered in a rather luxe marble bathtub. And if the meal was accompanied by a few restorative mimosas, JARVIS would never tell a soul. God bless Stark's complete and utter lack of financial modesty. The most strenuous thing she'd managed to do was pull on an obscenely soft Agent Provocateur robe, pump JARVIS for information about 'Ian' (DENIED) and cue up some reruns of _Whose Line Is It Anyway?_ Being left in the Avenger's version of a crèche wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she just knew from experience that by day three, things usually got pretty damn boring. 

Clint, however, did not look bored. He looked like he'd gone a few rounds with the Hulk, actually. Even freshly showered and dressed in a pair of low-slung track pants and T-shirt, he still looked a bit worse for wear. If not for his still-damp hair and the knicker-dropping scent of his orange and cinnamon soap, she might have thought that he'd come to her direct from some sort of battle. Darcy winced as she caught sight of his swollen nose, it seemed to have been set but the swollen skin beneath his eyes was already growing dark with bruising. A clean white dressing peeked out from the sleeve of his shirt and Darcy felt a rush of guilt. It wasn't fair that he'd been hurt dealing with her mistakes. 

"Shit taste in men, huh?" She stood in the lounge room, but he seemed frozen just past the door. There was a brief moment of panic while she weighed up the chances of him having a late-onset concussion (high), but mostly his eyes just seemed to be drifting up and down the long draped lines of her silk robe. 

Damn straight she was rocking the robe. _Nobody_ could look bad in an $800 robe. Fact. 

She moved toward Clint and the robe split to reveal a flash of thigh, that seemed give him a start, because he shook his head as if to clear it, then dropped her bag by the door. 

"So we have him in custody," Clint suddenly found the cornices around the ceiling _fascinating_. 

Darcy didn't take her eyes off him as she stooped to retrieve her bag, her robe parted a little at the neck and she could have sworn that his eyes slid down. Which made _zero_ sense because she was just some pain in the arse case that happened to keep showing up on his radar and had only just that day put him into a world of hurt. 

Still, it couldn't hurt to test the theory. When she stood she made no effort to tighten the robe, it sat low on her breasts, the silk edge teasing her nipples, constantly threatening to slip away completely and give Clint an eyeful. Well, more like four eyefuls, her tits weren't exactly tiny. "You were hurt." She didn't ask, it was pretty obvious. 

His index finger ghosted over the bridge of his nose, "S'nothing." 

But it wasn't nothing, she just wasn't sure how to tell him that. He was just being a good guy, a protector of the weak, innocent and romantically disastrous. Only Darcy knew that he did it all with actual fucking skill and years of hard work. He wasn't a suit, a quirk of intergalactic physics or some scientific clusterfuck. He was a good guy doing good things and he was _hurt_ because of it. 

Except that she didn't say any of that. "You shouldn't try and keep up with them if you're going to get so banged up." It wasn't meant as a scathing judgement on his ability, but he sure fucking took it that way. 

"Yeah? And you shouldn't fuck every miscreant from New Mexico to London." 

" _Excuse me_?" 

Something in her face must have given away how out of line he was because he back-pedalled really fucking quickly. Anger was a marvellous thing and by some miracle she actually managed to beat him to the door with just enough time to flatten her back against it and block his path. 

"You don't get to throw shit like that around and then walk away, _Agent_ Barton," Darcy jabbed a finger at his chest and regretted it the second he flinched. She added another point to his tally of injuries. 

"Isn't that what you want? For me to walk away because I can't _keep up_?" 

"I didn't mean... You're too good to get hurt protecting someone like me." She softened her stance a little, but she still wasn't letting him leave. 

"Are you fucking serious?" Clint looked like he wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. He cracked his hand against the door over her head and leaned in. "This is when it matters the most. When it's someone I... I will have my arse handed to me a thousand times over to protect you from this shit. I'm just asking that you not be so blind when you let these jerks have at you." 

He spoke like a guy who had a fair idea just how many jerks there had been in the last two years. "You read my file?" 

He gave a bitter little laugh then, his other hand coming down to trace beneath the neck of her robe. "Sweetheart, I _wrote_ your file." 

Darcy's mind reeled at the thought that Clint had been keeping tabs on her. "I'm no one to you," she said softly. 

He blinked then, stepped back and gave a curt nod. "Yeah, tell yourself that and we'll both be fine. Take your toys," his head jerked toward her bag, "Go home, satisfy yourself, clear your head and then pick a good guy. Just for once. Think with your brain and not what's in your panties." 

Well that was the dumbest fucking thing she'd ever heard. 

Clint waited for her to step away from the door and let him leave. He was in for a long wait. 

Darcy slipped the robe from her shoulders and let it pool at her feet while he just looked on, gobsmacked. 

"So here's the thing," Darcy stepped clear of the robe, "Seems like the smart thing to do would be to satisfy myself _with_ a good guy." 

He made a garbled noise as he cleared his throat and nodded, "Seems like." 

"And you're the best guy I know." 

"That so?" He reached out then, large hands curling around her waist and drawing her in. 

"And I think you'd be better than anything I've got in that bag." Darcy let her fingers slip up over his hard stomach as she lifted his shirt. 

"Baby," Clint looked down at her, still a little hazy-eyed, "I'd gladly die trying to outdo your little toys. But are you... you're sure? I'll walk away if you need. It'll kill me, but I will." 

Funny that even as she was practically gagging to get the man out of his clothes he was _nobly_ offering to spare her. 

She sort of wanted to break his nose all over again. 

Darcy released the drawstring of his track pants, looking down and grinning shamelessly as he kicked his pants off. Superhuman? No. Super hung? Fuck yes. 

With a quick jump her legs were around his waist and he was moving them both toward the bedroom. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds, worried about any unseen injuries. A quick smack to the arse told her that he was having none of her sensitive shit and she was _so_ okay with that. His shirt disappeared somewhere between the lounge and the bedroom and before she knew it she was being dumped unceremoniously onto the bed while Clint ferreted around in the bedside drawer for condoms. He pulled out a brand new box and they both offer up a silent prayer to Man Whore Tony Stark. 

Clint climbed onto the bed between her shamelessly spread thighs and didn't hesitate to drive two fingers into her. It was a shock at first, unexpected and so fucking good that she gasped and suddenly he was frowning and looking down at his other hand. "Shit, sorry Darce, I forget how rough they are." 

She panicked when it seemed like he might withdraw so she made a grab for his wrist and held him there, her hips bucking as she rode his hand. His calloused fingers stroked at the walls of her pussy and she couldn't think of anything that had ever felt better or looked hotter. It seemed to be working for him too as his cock curved hard and ready up toward his stomach. He paused to lick and spit at the fingers of his free hand before dropping them to circle her clit. There wasn't a target in the world that he couldn't hit and it wasn't long before Darcy was drawing her knees up to her chest, her slick little cunt gripping at his fingers while her toes curled and she came so hard that she saw stars. 

He didn't give her time to catch her breath, she was still shaking in the wake of her orgasm as he was fitting his hips between her thighs and pressing his cock up against her soaked pussy. 

They kissed then and while Darcy was sure that normal people didn't share a first kiss while the guy was going for that first, deep, bone-jarring thrust she couldn't seem to fault it. His tongue and cock struck deep at the same time and she didn't think she'd ever felt fuller. Clint drew back and thrust again, he was balls-deep when he broke the kiss to pin her with a hard stare. "Promise that this is mine, _my_ sweet, tight pussy. My Darcy." He nipped at her bottom lip, "I won't disappoint." 

He couldn't speak much after that, his attention turning to just hard fucking. At best he managed an endless litany telling her that she was tight, wet, perfect, _his_. His words drove her wild and before long she was there with him, breathlessly begging him to fill her cunt, telling him how big he felt in her, how hot she was, how _close_. 

The words only stopped as they came together, her knees up and pressed between their chests as Clint pistoned away and claimed her mouth for a bruising, _filthy_ kiss. 

He seemed reluctant to let their bodies part, only doing so when he grew soft and had to dispose of the condom. He wasn't gone for long, maybe twenty seconds, and then he was there pulling them into the bedding, his head resting on one full breast while his hand idly dipped back between her legs. Gentle fingers caressed her sensitive well-fucked pussy, more for comfort than arousal. 

Darcy dropped a swift kiss to the top of his head, "Still think I have shit taste in men, Barton?" 

"'Course," he mumbled, "It just happened to work in my favour this time." 

She snorted and let her heavy eyes close. 

"Darce?" Clint sounded pretty damn tired himself. 

"Mmm?" 

"Dump me via novelty candy and I will end you." 

"Noted."


End file.
